A Bride Worth Fighting For (5 page)

Strains of piano notes filtered in from the next room, and Gwen lowered her cup. “They have live musicians in the lobby? What could be more perfect?”

Sitting here, talking to you.

But she’d already risen to her feet and held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go listen.”

“You’re not going to make me dance, are you?” He’d first met her at Darlene’s Christmas party, where the music had been too loud to allow for any conversation of substance, but he’d watched her for way too long as she’d taught John the steps to a ballroom dance.

“No.” Her smile turned to confusion and then a frown. “Have I ever forced you to dance with me?”

“No. You couldn’t pull me away from the wall.” Watching her, he’d been transformed back to the ballroom dance studio of his youth where his mother had never been more beautiful and happy than when she’d been teaching someone how to dance.

Maybe he ought to try hitting his head. A little selective amnesia would serve him well.

Gwen’s knee pressed against Tucker’s as they sat next to each other on the lobby couch. She clapped with gusto as the last notes of a concerto died away. An elderly woman rose from the bench behind the grand piano, and a young male guest spun his wheelchair across the floor to take her place.

“Can you believe I haven’t sat in front of a musical instrument in twenty years?” the woman gushed, her cheeks flushed with pleasure as she soaked in the crowd’s applause. “Tonight, I was bursting with song.”

“You were wonderful,” Gwen said, trying not to resent that the woman could remember intricate note combinations from decades ago while she couldn’t remember a single event with the man she was supposed to marry. She didn’t dare ask if they’d set a wedding date for fear it loomed in the near future.

To distract herself, she leaned forward, determined to analyze the relaxed, go-with-the-flow atmosphere of the lodge. Somehow, the owners made every guest feel like they received special treatment, and she wanted to capture that essence.

Members of the staff moved through the lobby attending to errands but were never too busy to greet anyone. If the person had a question or a problem, they gave them their complete attention. Most did so with a smile, although Rekkus and another man wearing black gloves who stood off to the side seemed more stoic and hardened than cheerful.

The music crescendoed to a rousing conclusion, and she clapped again. The young man behind the keyboard flushed and tipped his head. “Dance next time I play, if you like.”

She beamed at him but then caught Tucker’s scowl. The dull ache in her head swelled to a throbbing pain. She gripped his elbow. “It’s getting late. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Great idea.” He led her away from the seating area.

She glanced back as another guest took a turn at the piano. “What are our plans for tomorrow?”

“Whatever you want to do.”

“We did what I wanted this evening. Suffice to say, you were less than impressed.” She shivered. Surely, if they were engaged, they had common interests. What, however, she had yet to uncover.

He shrugged. “Listening to music was fine. We might want to take it easy tomorrow. You’re supposed to be getting plenty of sleep.”

Sleeping and wishing away the headache pain until she could sleep again were the sum total of her existence. Since her nap, the throbbing had stabilized at a mere constant ache. When she’d listened to Tucker talk about his love of nature and plants over dinner, his passion for his subject had almost distracted her from her discomfort.

“I think we should explore the island tomorrow,” she said. “If we ask at the front desk, I bet someone will tell us the best places to examine the plant life—without disturbing the natural growth, of course.”

“This week is for you, Gwen, not me.”

She shook her head as they stepped into the elevator. “It’s for both of us. Just because you’re helping me get my memory back doesn’t mean you should have any less of a vacation.”

If he wasn’t enjoying himself, why would he want to share his life with her? Up until dinner, his complete focus had been on her, but his eyes didn’t shine when he looked at her the way they did when he talked about his conservation efforts.

Just because they were engaged didn’t mean their relationship had been perfect before she’d lost her memory. By paying attention to what he loved, she could strengthen their bond or discover if they were right for each other at all.

As the elevator crawled upward, she glanced at him, unable to believe he wasn’t right for her. Not only was she comfortable with him, their chemistry compounded with every passing moment. The real question was if she fit with him, but she didn’t know herself well enough to answer.

The elevator doors opened, and Tucker placed his palm against her back as they exited. A few steps later, they stopped in front of her room. “This is you,” he said.

“Yeah.” Now what? She had no idea how to wrap up the evening and no past experience to fall back on. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism for something else?”

Oh gosh. She might not have a memory, but she understood what she’d implied. She forced a laugh to cover her embarrassment and deflect the sex offer she definitely wasn’t ready for him to take her up on. “Apparently, you’ve gotten engaged to a clichéd and trite woman. I fell asleep so fast earlier, I didn’t notice if the room had a coffee pot.”

His lips twitched. “I would never get engaged to a cliché. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rubbed her temples. If he’d been attracted to something unique and special about her, she’d like a clue what that thing might be. She enjoyed getting reacquainted with him, but getting to know herself proved far more unsettling. “Okay, no coffee and no euphemistic coffee. Uh, good night?”

“A goodnight kiss?” he suggested.

She dropped her gaze to his full pink lips. How many times had those lips kissed hers before? She wanted to remember, but she couldn’t handle the intimacy of a full, deep kiss when who she was remained elusive.

Rising on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips over his cheek, scratchy with his customary beard stubble. The touch warmed her, inviting her to linger and explore his face. Instead, she pulled away.

Ending the evening with a chaste peck also felt wrong after all they’d shared over the past few hours and days. Since she’d awoken in the hospital, he’d been her whole world. She didn’t want a lifeline though. She wanted to depend on herself. If she had a man, she wanted him to be her partner, not her crutch.

“Sleep well,” she murmured. She opened her door and stepped inside.

“Gwen,” Tucker said.

She tipped her head toward him, afraid if she reached out, she would cling to him.

“We’ll figure out how we fit together.”

If
they fit together. The words sat unsaid between them. She nodded, terrified by either possibility and frustrated with him. He knew things but refused to tell her what she couldn’t remember. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her for a reason. Maybe their relationship hadn’t been going well, and he’d been trying to break up with her.

The scenario matched with his sense of obligation. He wouldn’t abandon her when she needed him most. He’d wait until her head healed. Then he’d dump her.

Pain exploded in her forehead, so unbearable she nearly cried out. She stumbled to the bed and fell face first on the pillow, letting agony and sleep pull her under.

***

“Gwen hasn’t awoken yet. I need someone to perform a well-being check.”

Behind the check-in desk, Myron raised her eyebrows. “Quite a few of our guests prefer to sleep past 10:00 a.m., especially on their first morning at the Wiccan Haus.”

Tucker gritted his teeth. “I realize that, but she has a head injury, and she just got out of the hospital. I don’t think she should be in a room alone with no one to check on her, and she didn’t answer her door when I knocked.”

Fear turned his blood to ice. He should have found a different place to take Gwen, somewhere with round-the-clock supervision, where the staff would be fired if they drugged anyone, where he wouldn’t second-guess if she was getting the best care for her injury.

“You’re knocking on doors and disturbing the other guests?” A man wearing dark shades and gloves regarded him coolly.

“I’m trying to make sure my fiancée hasn’t slipped back into a coma,” he snapped. The fiancée label slipped out automatically without his usual sense of guilt for perpetrating a fraud.

Although hard to gauge with the impenetrable shades, the man seemed to relax a fraction. “I’ll take care of this, Myron,” he told the clerk. Then he gestured for Tucker to follow him. “I’m Cyrus Rowan, and I know a thing or two about wanting to protect the people you love—and failing.”

Tucker flinched as he trailed the man though the lobby and into the elevator. He refused to consider what failing would mean for Gwen, and he couldn’t take his focus off her to inquire about details of the man’s personal tragedy or how he coped. Cyrus didn’t offer any more information as they rode the elevator up in silence.

The door to Gwen’s room stood ajar. God, no. He couldn’t be too late. He should have broken the door to get to her instead of searching for help. As he strode inside, Sage stood at a counter mixing something. Gwen sat on the bed, propped against the pillows covering the headboard, eyes open and alert.

“You’re awake.” He ran to the bedside and slid his hand along her cheek. Her soft, warm skin assured him of her health, turning his fears into ridiculous nonsense. Even so, he couldn’t dismiss them. “For the rest of the week, I want a key to your room, so I can check on you while you’re sleeping.”

“Is everything all right?” Cyrus asked from the doorway.

“Peachy.” Sage sashayed toward the bed with a tall glass containing a chartreuse-colored shake and held it out to Gwen. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” Tucker intercepted the glass and sniffed the contents. Rather than a milk-based substance, the drink smelled like a field of wildflowers and spring rains.

“Not for you,” Sage chided. “This mixture of herbs and minerals improves memory and heals the mind and body.” She spun back to the counter. “However, I will make drinks for you and my brother to rid you both of needless worry and anxiety.”

“Not necessary,” Cyrus said.

“I’m fine,” Tucker said at the same time. His concern over Gwen’s well-being had risen from a humanitarian standpoint to a very personal level, and he didn’t want a drink to dull the fear. He should be scared that he might care too much and forget their relationship wasn’t real.

“Why were you worried about me?” Gwen took the glass from his hands. “I haven’t done anything since you left me, except sleep.”

He glided his fingers through her fine auburn hair and along her shoulder, savoring the sweet contact. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up. Silly, right?”

“Very.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Turning his head away so he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss her with all the tenderness of a deeply relieved fiancé, he caught Sage and Cyrus exchanging glances and small shakes of their heads. Fear slithered through him again. Maybe she needed some more medical testing or to return to the hospital where her heart rate and breathing would be constantly monitored. He’d rather err on the side of caution and be accused of being overprotective.

Cyrus turned and left the room before Tucker could pull him aside, and he didn’t want to leave Gwen alone while he grilled Sage.

“We’ve established that sleeping is all the entertainment I need,” Gwen said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But what plans have you made for today?”

“No plans.” Except to corner the Rowan siblings and discover if their methods were helping her or causing her further injury.

“Good. Then as soon as I shower and change out of yesterday’s clothes, we’ll go for a hike and explore the island. Sage promised to point us in the direction of the best and most unique plant life, and you have an open invitation to visit her herb garden any time.”

“As long as you don’t overdo it,” he said. Whatever plants he might discover weren’t worth risking her health.

“The staff will set up a picnic lunch in the orchard,” Sage said. She crossed the room and placed her hand on his shoulder. “We’re looking out for the two of you wherever you go. If you hike too far and don’t have the strength to walk back, we’ll send a cart to pick you up. You’re in good hands at the Wiccan Haus.”

Despite his concerns, he couldn’t help but believe her sincerity. She might have overdone the incense in his room when he’d first arrived, but Gwen appeared more vibrant and stronger with every passing minute in her company.

“I need to visit a few more people. Don’t leave the room until you drink every drop of that shake,” Sage ordered.

“The color’s awful, but the taste is pretty good,” Gwen said after they were alone. “Do you want to try?”

He shook his head. “I want you to have it. The more you drink, the more color is in your cheeks—the good kind, not the fluorescent-chartreuse kind you’re drinking,” he clarified. “How’s your headache this morning?”

“Manageable.”

Not good enough. He wanted her pain banished for good, not “managed.”

She sucked at the straw, slurping the final bit from the bottom of the cup, and then grinned at him. “You can certify that I drank every drop. Now, I’m going to kick you out so I can shower. How about I meet you in the lobby in a half hour?”

As much as he wanted to stay in the room to protect her, he couldn’t smother her. And if he was honest, more than protective instincts guided his desire to stay. He wanted the intimacy of her hair wet and uncombed from the shower with the towel tucked around her breasts and stopping high on her thighs.

The more time they spent together, the more the charade of their relationship blurred with reality. They’d established a real emotional connection, and he wanted to build on it.

He had no idea if they could have a future once she remembered her past without him in it, but he had the rest of the week to convince her they deserved a shot.